Chronic Dreamer
Two of my friends and I raced to the city center on bicycles, all of us having started from various points around the city. The brown multi-storied buildings were primarily of the Tudor style; a few modern sensibilities accented the buildings, such as shingled roofs and windows on the lower levels bastioned by iron bars. Other than the three of us, the city was desolate.
I had been the last one to arrive which made me the last to have my wish granted by The Crimson Beast. The building — that The Beast had propped their tent on the lawn of — towered over us with white columns and cold trim. Bearing a wide berth, it pushed all the other buildings away with well-groomed green. The building accented a much smaller white tent housing myriad musical instruments and mixing tables in which waited the wishing fairy (previously The Beast). Her violet hair floated freely as if in water and she drifted free from the shackles of gravity. She listened to one of my friends, the one who was the second to arrive. The first to arrive had already received their wish, and they were kept as a liquid in a tall-necked, deep-blue vase.
I already knew this was to be our fate; it had happened to me the previous time I had made a wish. That time, I was unaware of the process and shocked to find myself melted into a liquid and kept in a bottle. I watched as the universe around me slowly folded in on itself, molding itself to where my wish became the altered reality. For those around me, this was instantaneous; for me, I had to wait for the eternity to end and circle back to the point where I had uttered my wish.
When my second friend melted into the eternal liquid, I stepped up to make my wish. I joked with the fairy of how we had done this dance before and how I wanted a different wish, this time. Before I could express my wish, and after I had made the off comment, angels in sharp suits came into existence, seized me, and flew me away by my shoulders. They ferried me to the foyer of a drab office building, the whole place in a tumult.
Something evil had been re-born because of my wish, I had overheard. Ordinarily, they would have perceived each and every time the universe looped, and kept that evil under their watchful eyes and in their made prison. My wish, they did not know about. The evil being, called Noah by the angels, had been able to escape its imprisonment. During the singular point in time, the gap between where the previous universe ended and my wish universe began, Noah escaped its bonds with its will of wrath and gave itself birth in the new world.
The other side of the foyer, next to the hallway of office rooms, faded away to reveal a dirt path that wound through a neatly kept wooded area. On the path trod an adult male holding tightly to a baby wrapped in a serene blanket. The angels cross the threshold, frightening the man and poised to execute the infant. My sense of morality was thrown into conflict. I did not want a baby to die, but I knew that if it is true evil it must. I am unable to decide its fate.
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